The Double Potato Salad Issue of 2011
by Shiggity Shwa
Summary: Team One celebrates Canada Day 2011. Concerns all characters, but has Sam/Jules relationship and is told from Jules POV. Missing flashback from Don't Ask, Don't Tell.


_Hey guys. I needed to take a wee break from DA, DT for personal/artistic reasons. I figured since I'd end up writing the illustrious Canada Day scene, I might as well do it now. This is another vignette for the 'Missing Flashbacks' Series. Meaning It belongs in the same timeline/universe as Domino Theory and Don't Ask, Don't Tell. It takes place Canada Day (July 1st to all you non-Canadians out there) which is about 9 weeks before the events in Domino Theory. Interesting huh? What's familiar about that particular amount of time? _

The Double Potato Salad Issue of 2011_  
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Tires crackle as they slow over sticks and gravel in the road. Jules' checks her side mirror, making sure that her Jeep is close enough to the curb, and then parks her vehicle where it stands. She must be the last one to arrive, because there's no more room in Ed's driveway for her car. There's no room in the designated road space outside of his house either, so she's forced to park about half a block away from his gorgeous two-storey house.

It's a beautiful house because Ed and Sophie fixed it up. Jules remembers that feeling, the euphoria of getting hands on, smashing a wall down, and putting up a new one. It's been almost two years since her apartment's been finished. Now instead of staying up late staring at paint swatches, she sits in her bed with some uninteresting book usually with Sam asleep and TSN blasting in the background. She often wonders how much begging it would take to let her do a backsplash in his kitchen.

She opens her back door and retrieves her bounty. Two comically large bowls of homemade potato salad. Each year when Ed hosts this party everyone has to bring a different side dish. Last year she was chips and honestly it was an insult. She doesn't know if the guys forget she can cook every year, or maybe they just don't want to bother her with the task. But last night she made Sam, who followed her home, go back to his place so she could concentrate on cooking and not reading for once. Four hours later, with every dish in her house dirty and on her counter, there she was with enough potato salad to feed the entire precinct.

The bowls fit on top of each other because they're covered by rubber tops. She's learned through the 'Great Fruit Salad debacle of 2009' never to use plastic wrap. Plastic wrap and salad of any kind just irks on disaster. So she balances what is about fifteen pounds of potatoes and starts to walk up Ed and Sophie's perfectly kept pathway. It's not an easy task, both the bowls take up the height of her torso and it's hard to see. She's just glad it's Canada Day and not Boxing Day. Doing this with the threat of ice would be a different story.

"Jules." Sophie's waving from the back gate. It's painted a deep green and has all sorts of foliage hanging over the sides.

"Hey Sophie."

Ed's wife laughs and holds the thick wooden gate open for her. She can already hear the din of Wordy's girls playfully screaming in the backyard and the guys laughing. "That's a lot of salad."

"I'm an overachiever." She doesn't quite grunt, but she uses one of her knees to hike the bowls up her chest in a less than lady like manner.

Sophie leads her down a small path to the main area of the large backyard complete with a massive table. It's not a picnic table in the least, even though this is a picnic lunch. It's fully dressed with a beautifully ornate lace tablecloth. The guys sit at the table underneath the shade of a willow tree. Sam has a bottle of beer. It's not his first by the leer he's giving her. Sarge sits beside him with a can of pop. Shelley sits close to Wordy who's holding his middle daughter, Maggie. She's folded against his chest like a monkey. Wordy's youngest daughter, Ally and his oldest, Lilly stand on the grass between him and Spike.

"Hey where's Ed?" She questions over her shoulder to Sophie who's walking up the deck steps to the back door.

Sophie stops and places a delicate hand on the wooden banister. "He's inside changing Izzy. He should be down soon." When she finishes speaking she gives a small smile and then disappears into the house.

Jules continues towards the table that looks like it could be the set of a photo shoot. The freshly cut grass sneaks through the rungs in her sandals and tickle at her toes. This is starting to become some qualification test. Wordy's girls should run out to her anytime now, ready to take her and the precious potato salad down. With a few more precarious, but well placed steps she reaches the table and sets the metal bowls down at the finish line.

"Jules, you made it." Sarge greets with a laugh. There's something disturbing about all four men, even Shelley too, just sitting around watching her walk with the salad and waiting for her to drop it.

"Yeah, a few more minutes and we were going to do a search and rescue," Spike adds. He's leaning back comfortably in an elegant wicker chair. Then she realizes it's because she's fashionably late. Well she was up all night making freaking salad. Give her a break.

"Daddy, we want to play." Lilly states. She has one hand on the tablecloth and the other holds one of Ally's hands.

"Yeah." Her little sister agrees.

Wordy groans, "All right."

"No, we want to play with Spike."

Wordy, Sam and Sarge stifle the same chuckle as Spike almost spits out some of his beer. He's always been a big hit with the kids.

"Lil, you can't just expect Spike to play with you." Shelley's voice is very gentle as she talks to her daughters who have both adopted the wide-eyed, pleading look. "Spike's an adult—"

Wordy, Sarge and Sam don't stifle their laughter anymore and break out into whooping chimpanzee-like chuckles.

Spike sets his beer on the table. "Oh, ha ha." He fake mocks the guys even as they mock him. He turns to Wordy's girls with his back hunched so that he can talk to them level faced. "Girl's it's really nice that you want to play with me. But you need to remember one thing." He reaches out and taps Lilly quickly on the shoulder and then springs up from his seat. "You're it."

Both of them squeal and chase him. Lilly pumps her skinny legs and Ally can barely amble over the short grass.

"Jules." Sarge points to the bowls, which have almost shifted the table's center of gravity. He's hiding an amused grin. "That's a lot of salad."

Wordy shakes his head. His hand moves soothingly up and down his daughter's back and she actually might be asleep as her sisters shout in the distance. "You're just mad because you know it's going to be better than your potato salad last year."

"Hey, it's not my fault you guys left it out in the sun too long."

"All I know is that I've never been that sick in my life."

Shelley rolls her eyes because she's situated between the two bickering men who are now recounting the 'Canada Day picnic of 2006' when Sarge tried to make coleslaw. It basically had the same outcome as Sarge's potato salad. Shelley leans forward so that the two men can argue without her intrusion. "Jules, you can put those on the buffet."

Following Shelley's pointing finger, there's a table set up against the lower level of the deck with all the food on it. Why didn't she see that before? Why didn't Sophie tell her to put the salad there? Jules stoops her head in aggravation, but she picks up the bowls again and mumbles, "Thanks Shelley."

"I'll help you," Sam offers almost too eagerly and when he stands from his chair he almost tips the table. Luckily Sarge and Wordy are too far into their history of SRU Canada Day picnics that they don't notice. Shelley straightens the table, the cloth and takes her sleeping daughter from her husband because Wordy's starting to get passionate about the debate.

She and Sam walk in silence across the crew cut grass. Their footsteps sound like the wind in the trees rustling the leaves. Sound like waves on a beach in some far away or exotic place. Not Ed's backyard.

Spike runs by, with Lilly trailing him and then Ally trailing her. "You're never going to catch me."

Sam shakes his head in what she thinks is misunderstanding. He can't comprehend why Spike would purposely play with the girls. She often forgets that Sam is the newest member to these functions although he's been coming for the last three years, this being his fourth. Spike's known two of these girls since their birth. He made an instantaneous bond with Lilly the moment they met. Maybe his nephew is the same age?

"So." Sam sets the second bowl down the buffet and it shudders under the weight. They pause a few moments and when the table looks like it can take the pressure he continues, "Looks like we're going to be eating potato salad for the next few weeks."

"I couldn't help it." She bows her head again, this time to take in the perfume of the salad as the lid pops off. Onions, and eggs, and mayo with paprika on the top. "I started making it last night, and it smelt like my grandma's house. I couldn't stop."

Tucking her hair behind her ears, she glances up at him. He has that same half-lidded leer he was wearing before. He needs to be careful with that look. She knows what it means. It means that they could get in trouble, especially here, with everyone from Team One less than fifteen feet away. "What?"

"Is that dress new?" His voice is lower; it has a distinct rumble to it. She has to laugh it off because one of them has to be sober enough to keep their inhibitions.

Sam's not drunk by any means, not even close. She's dealt with him drunk before. One on appreciated midnight phone call that wasn't her dad. Right now he's stuck in a stupor of lust because she's wearing a dress. A red dress that's modestly cut like all the other dresses she owns, but it doesn't mean that it doesn't work in other ways. "It's from the back of my closet."

"Hmm." It's just a guttural sound from the back of his throat. His hand lands on the tablecloth, which she knows is a proxy for her dress. His hands would without a doubt be on every inch of her if they were someone more secluded. "You should shop there more often."

Spike runs by again. This time Lilly is closer to catching him. Really within arms reach. Ally is still trailing her a bit. "You'll never take me alive."

Her eyes dart towards Spike and the girls. Towards Sarge and Wordy who've settled their historical debate. In a low voice she cautions, "Cool it, Sam."

Sam takes one miniscule step back, she can still fell the heat radiating off of him even during midday July. He grabs his beer bottle by the neck. She didn't see him sneak it over with his bowl of her salad. "It's not my fault Jules. You know what you, in dresses does to me."

She does. It's why she pulled out this red number and prayed that it still looked as good as it did when she first bought it. She doesn't wear dresses often for many reasons. She and Sam don't go out because then their secret relationship would pretty much be null. Another reason is as soon as she puts a dress on; he needs to get it off of her. She doesn't know if it's because when they reignited their relationship she was wearing a dress, or if it's because the majority of the time he sees her in a masculine uniform, and a bullet proof vest that doesn't exactly hug her curves.

"Well." She shrugs, sticking a metal spoon deep into the thick salad. "You're just going to have to find a way to deal with it."

He chuckles as he places his lips to the mouth of the bottle and takes a swig of his beer. She watches as his Adam's apple bobs with as he swallows. His fingers hook around the edge of the table and they start to inch closer to her. "Jules, there's no way to deal with it."

"You found a way to deal with it for two years." It's a definite mood killer. She doesn't know why she said it. Maybe just to get him to back up, but it's so spiteful that even she feels a prick of acid from the recoil.

Spike limps by because Lilly is wrapped around his left leg. She's laughing almost with malicious intent. A foot or two behind her Ally runs with her hands out, trying to grab onto Spike. "Okay," he huffs and his voice cracks. "Spike needs a break now."

She waits for Sam to make some irritated comment fueled by the hurt she's instilled in him. But instead Sam nudges her arm with his elbow and gives her a lopsided grin. "I guess I'd better go get another beer then."

It takes her a second to realize that he actually made a joke. There was everything they needed for a fight, to act pissy towards each other and wind up on separate ends up Toronto instead of spending the night together and he just blew it off. Inconspicuously, she tugs the bottom hem of his black t-shirt and speaks in a suggestive whisper, "Don't drink too much, or else you'll miss the fireworks later tonight."

Spike almost crawls by with Ally hanging off of his back and Lilly still wrapped around his legs. He's breathing heavily and sweating through his shirt. Sam and Jules observe him with the same expression because they know that he's not going to make it much further. It's like when a beaten boxer stands back up in the ring for no good reason.

"Are you getting tired, Spike?" Sarge shouts from where he remains comfortably seated in the shade.

"All right girls." Wordy stands from the table, but doesn't move from the spot under the willow tree. "That's enough, leave Spike alone."

Sam steps forward and pries the giggling toddler off of Spike's back. As soon as her weight is removed, Spike falls forward onto the ground with a grunt, though it's for dramatic purposes. Lilly laughs and lies on the ground beside him. "I won."

Ally wiggles because Sam's holding her under her arms and out in front of his body like a football that's about to be kicked. "Sam," Jules sighs and slants her eyebrows looking at the toddler kicking her feet in the air. "Hold her right."

"What's wrong with this?" He nods to Ally, who's starting to lose her good humor on being carried like a sack of potatoes. Seriously, didn't Sam grow up with two little sisters? Doesn't he know how to hold a baby?

Before Ally starts to scream or cry, Jules bends at the waist, placing her hands on her thighs and talks face-to face with the toddler. "Ally, what happened to Spike?"

Her face lights up and her curly cherub hair bounces as she giggles, "He fell down."

"I got her." Wordy lifts his daughter from Sam's awkward arms with ease. She molds against his body, thin arms around his neck and her lips press against his cheek in an impromptu kiss. Wordy chuckles and carries Ally with only one arm, he holds his free hand out to the ground. "Come on, Ladybug."

Lilly reaches her hand up and Wordy pulls her off the grass with one arm. She giggles and hugs his leg while he smoothes out her hair. "What do you girls say to Spike for playing with you?"

"Thank you, Spike." Both girls speak in chorus.

"No more," Spike mumbles still on his back, limbs sprawling out at his side, eyes watching the sky.

The back door to the house opens and Ed bounces down the stairs with Izzy ensconced in his arms. She's wearing a little yellow sun dress and a matching bow in her red hair. "Hey Jules," Ed greets when he's close enough, but then as he rounds a flower garden he notices Spike on the grass. Ed lets out a chuckle and questions, "What happened to him."

"Wordy's girls," Sam answers.

Ed shakes his head as they watch the still hyperactive girls hang off their dad a few feet away. "They're going to be heartbreakers."

Spike starts to upright himself and dust off his clothing. "They're going to be jawbreakers," he mutters as he moves briskly back to the table, trying not to get caught up in hurricane Wordsworth.

Izzy swings forward, trying to catch a handful of Jules' hair. "Izzy," Ed speaks in a scolding tone and gently reclaims his daughter's waving arm.

"That's okay," Jules adopts the same stance she used to speak to Ally and then attempts to have a conversation with the four-month-old in Ed's arms. "Izzy just wants some attention too."

Ed laughs and then checks his watch. Izzy shifts in his arms and gains a surprised expression at the movement. "Actually, would you mind keeping an eye on her while I fire up the barbeque?"

"Of course." Jules holds out her arms and the happy infant is transferred to her. Izzy is warm, and still plump with baby fat. She's very well behaved and doesn't squirm.

Sam stares at her again, though his leer has mostly dissipated. Ed is now at the barbeque with Wordy, Sarge and Spike. The four men stand in a semi-circle in front of the state-of-the-art appliance, all with their heads bowed in silent thought or pregame prayer. The great argument is about to begin. How the frozen meat should be cooked. Every year the guys fight about the barbequing and every year they end up doing it the same way. Afterwards everyone complains. It's tradition. At least as long as she's been invited to this thing.

"What?" She asks Sam, because he's still staring and hasn't uttered a word or taken a sip of his beer in at least two minutes.

"You've been hanging around babies a lot."

"That's too high a heat." Sarge is yelling at Ed who always turns the barbeque on high immediately.

"It needs to preheat," Ed yells back.

"Why didn't you do that before now?" Spike asks. He's louder than usual and probably on his second or third beer already. "You knew we were coming."

Wordy stands silent. His hand is on his head, which he is shaking in dismay as the other three argue.

Jules shrugs at Sam's statement. "Babies are a lot brighter than most of the company I keep."

"It's just—" He pauses, shakes his head and then throws back the last of his beer.

"What?"

He places the empty bottle on the table beside her potato salad. Beside the chips that Sarge had to bring. The vegetables that Wordy and Shelley cut up into circles and stars. "You want one don't you?"

"Sam." Ed beckons him with a large wave of a hand. He's standing behind the open lid of the barbeque and black smoke is billowing out from within.

Jules raises her eyebrows and gestures with her head. "You'd better go tell them the right way to cook the frozen meat."

She bounces Izzy on her hip and watches the smoke disappear off into the atmosphere. Now all of her teammates surround the barbeque. They're all yelling, arguing, laughing. Most of them are drunk. She doesn't know why they do this every year, alcohol and barbequing doesn't seem safe. Behind the group of testosterone, Shelley and her girls watch from the safety of the picnic table. High pitched giggles escape the willow tree every few minutes.

A humid July wind blows and cuts the smoke. Sam's starting to sweat because the heat is too high. It's always too high. She tried to remedy it one year but, it obviously didn't work. Izzy's hand wraps around her finger. The infant plays with a ring Jules absently threw on before she left the house. In that moment, in the muggy weather Jules thinks that she does want this. The beautiful house that she's fixed up from scratch with her own two hands. The hyperactive kids who require her constant attention and care and would probably result in the death of her career. The domestic bliss with someone she loves.

Over the clamor of the barbeque fiasco she hears Sam yell, "You have to thaw the burgers first."

She glances down at Izzy who's gaping up at her with an open little mouth and wide bright blue eyes. She wants all that, she just doesn't want it right now.


End file.
